


"but a heaven is easier made of nothing at all"

by yoonminkookfangirl



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Abuse, Airbender!Daehwi, Avatar: The Last Airbender References, Earthbender!Woojin, Firebender!Jinyoung, Hunger Games-esque tournaments, M/M, Perceived Relationships, Phobias, Self-degradation, Waterbender!Guanlin, but not an Avatar AU, depressing memories from childhood, friendship of mutual suffering, its not a matter of winkdeep vs jinhwi, learned helplessness, the 4 of them r the only victims of dystopia, the real ship is baejin x deepdark, the unrequited, the violence is not too graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2019-03-10 23:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13511685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoonminkookfangirl/pseuds/yoonminkookfangirl
Summary: Fire wants to burn,Water wants to flow,Air wants to rise,Earth wants to bind,if they can break free from their circus freak cages.





	"but a heaven is easier made of nothing at all"

**Author's Note:**

> Check out the [fic playlist!](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLMxVajNZnS5HiGYBZmBXkU-uG7fcJBWUW) I’ll incorporate lyrics from some of those songs anyway cuz i’m a dork
> 
> I hope this at least sets the stage for angst cuz i’m kinda remorseful that it’s Daehwi’s 17th birthday (international age) and sdksajhljhdsjfh he’s growing up and i selfishly wish he could remain an adorable little bumpkin forever :’(

_In which each shake uproots the foundations of its prey_

Jinyoung squeezes his eyes shut.

He envisions a blazing hearth of flickering hues rippling through the air, letting colors dance across the inert wood it springs from. 

Warmth. Light. Home. 

All these comforting constructs are rendered meaningless to Jinyoung as his ears are flooded by the roar of the crowds thirsting for bloodshed, an accompaniment to darkness’s cackle at its triumph over incandescence. 

The consuming tenebrosity that greets his vision only increases his panic. His body autonomically leans back, and then he feels a slightly smaller frame pressing against him.

His heart decelerates as his thoughts start circulating again. Both he and Daehwi were identically disabled before being planted in the center of the arena.

Earthly slush splatters his cheek, and then comes a stinging sensation, presumably from a fragment of gravel scratching across his skin. 

Jinyoung wishes he could just freeze in this position and continue listening to the pounding of Daehwi’s heart through their backs ironed together. Maybe he could allow Guanlin to literally encapsulate him in a solid block of ice. But he had to mobilize in order to maintain the show. And to maintain the facade that he practiced self-preservation. 

His obscured vision heightens his sensitivity disadvantageously upon the start of the match. The metallic orange tracksuit Jinyoung dons enhances his fair complexion to a radiant sheen, but offers no shielding of the onslaught of precipitation and pelted stones emerging from the ends of the stadium.

Once again, Jinyoung inhales deeply and smells the vestiges of smoke curling up from his clenching fingers.

The rabid audience craves for Jinyoung’s utter loss of control in the beginning of each tournament, as the expected mantra of, “Wildfire! Wildfire!” already erupts from some fangirl-concentrated seating area. On the contrary, Jinyoung interprets it as a reminder to constrain his bending. Never again did he want to exonerate all the metabolic reactions occurring in his body, which would combust not only Guanlin, Woojin, and his teammate, but possibly a good portion of the bleachers as well. 

It was frighteningly easy for Jinyoung to win this match, the next match, and infinitely more without the presence of matter to apply his bending on. And that was why he refused to.

He inhales again, fueling the heat of his body to travel down to the tingling ends of his limbs. His arteries short-circuit to provide oxygen to the catabolic reaction brewing on his fingertips and toes. The heat concentrates until he is finally wielding flames in his palms. 

In order to contain his blazes, Jinyoung resorts to cupping his hands and pitching timely fireballs in the semicircle of his vicinity. He uses the best of his blinded ability to aim in random vectors, hoping that his opponent would be stalled by having to dodge the sizzling obstacles. By the way his fringe flattens against his forehead, Jinyoung infers that Daehwi was also gusting against the other opponent. Soon enough, he heard the resounding shattering of ice against the arena floor from behind, which meant that Daehwi is dealing with Guanlin and he is dealing with Woojin. 

Jinyoung intends to tamely fend off Woojin, even if that results in himself sporting the worst injuries.

Once gravel scrapes by his cheek with a much higher momentum, Jinyoung knows that Woojin is nearing and undaunted by his fireballs. Cautiously but still with experienced swiftness, he steps away from Daehwi and roundhouse kicks his leg, swinging up an arc of flame that Woojin would have to backpedal to avoid. Jinyoung then proceeds to saunter forward, each punch of the air in front of him launching streams of fire in Woojin’s path.

Assuming that Woojin is still approaching him from the same direction.

Judging by the sound of his flames flickering on the floor instead of emblazing pebbles, Woojin must have dashed behind him, and soon enough, his fist connects with a stone wall that suddenly materialized from the arena floor.

It was time to level up his game. 

Rather than waiting for the once smooth cement to disintegrate into pebbles beneath his feet, Jinyoung cartwheels over the shifting surface in any direction that his hands take him, flames still spurting out from whatever limbs are in the air. He does not know if it is a legitimate defense for Woojin to maintain his distance or just a tactical display of his powers to arouse his fans. As the flames can’t shield him from earthly projectiles, he wishes he could somehow locate Daehwi and combine defenses again. Jinyoung has no idea if the younger is able to handle Guanlin, especially as Daehwi controls the most peaceful element. 

He does not have time to consider this before he is suddenly locked into blindly close combat. Being an earthbender, Woojin’s footsteps thunder as he needs to feel the earth with his bare feet to gain bearings, rendering him unable to stealthily advance towards Jinyoung. Jinyoung’s encases his fists in flames, and he knows that Woojin will responsively encase his fists in stone, but that will make his punches more strenuous to execute.

Jinyoung takes advantage of that and punches the air in front of him. He does not intend to harm Woojin, but he needs to keep his fans pumped through a drawn out match even when his own stamina drowned in anxiety. 

Woojin easily launches a solid blow on his shoulder, and Jinyoung grunts in pain even though it was not a direct aim. Out of reflex, Jinyoung aims a blind punch and his knuckles graze Woojin’s cheek. 

The audience gasps as Woojin hisses in pain, and Jinyoung fears that he might have seriously burned Woojin. 

And triggered the real fight to begin. 

Jinyoung backflips before a chasm cracks open right beneath the air his feet now safely hover over. More high-speed rocky pellets scratch his cheek, his frustrating blindfold now serving some purpose as flimsy goggles. He knows he has to limit Woojin’s foot contact with the earth, but he cannot aim low fireballs when Woojin has complete control of the ground. 

When in doubt, always flee. 

Jinyoung sprints, the ground seemingly crumbling in all the places the balls of his feet bounce off of. Suddenly he lurches forward, almost tripping from the sudden cold seeping into his bloody feet. He stumbles but regains his balance on what was essentially an ice skating rink.

Jinyoung immediately roots himself to the ice on his hands and knees, a humiliating posture to display until his hands sink into the slab of ice. And then the whole rink liquefies. 

He hopes that Woojin slips in the extensive puddle, which would grant Jinyoung time to plan his defense. He stands up, completely disoriented and even more vulnerable now that Guanlin’s element soaks him to the bones. Once again, he worries whether Daehwi might have needed his assistance long ago.

He does not have to fret for long. 

A guttural scream pierces the atmosphere of whirling elements, signaling the end of today’s tournament. Jinyoung rips his blindfold off, assaulting his vision with streams of sunlight almost outshined by camera flashing. He wonders if the darkness was actually safeguarding him from the sight of his victorious token: a smooth stone plane now littered with crevices and craters, half of it with a murky puddle of rusted mud splashed on, and jags of ice scattered across the ground and arena walls. 

Woojin resembles a drenched gingerbread man with how he lays in the puddle, as he is even wearing metallic green to complete the festive vibes. Woojin lifts his head, contemplating whether he should stand up, but then chooses to allow the chilling liquid to tend to his wounds. Daehwi sits in the puddle as well, curled in a fetal position, the fingers of his hands now swollen enough to hide his small face. 

Then Jinyoung lets his gaze wander in the same direction everyone’s smartphones are pointed: at the waterbender. Guanlin is impaled against the opposite wall, presumably flung backwards by Daehwi’s winds. A jagged icicle protrudes from his forearm, and while no blood stains his jumpsuit of rippling waves, Guanlin sobs, still shell shocked that he was nearly amputated by a weapon of his own creation. 

“And it looks like Team Firewind prevails over Team Mud!” Mr. Cho roars from his observation ledge, more for arrogant emphasis than volume since his voice is already amplified a hundred times over through the various intercoms. Some of the audience even chuckle at his demeaning joke, as if they could be anymore apathetic to witness four teenagers self-destructively unleash powers no one else on the entire planet possessed. 

“Let’s give a round of applause to Bae Jinyoung and Lee Daehwi, who were gifted the blindfolds this week as per the majority of viewer votes. Be sure to check ElementBenders.org throughout the next week to participate in the next Obstacle Poll!” Mr. Cho exclaims in the professionally-feigned tone of a game show host. 

The audience stands up to applaud, raising posters of Jinyoung or Daehwi even higher. Some concerned viewers begin chanting, “Get well soon, Guanlin-ah,” and “Next time you will succeed, Woojin-oppa!” They seemed to be blissfully unaware that the waterbender nearly lost his limb, the earthbender flashes inflamed skin from second-degree burns, the firebender continues painting the water he was standing in red, and the airbender can barely bend his frostbitten fingers distorted with blisters. Just some inconveniences for the sake of entertainment. 

Emergency responders enter the arena to transport the boys off stage. Their appearance is more synonymous to that of astronauts than medical responders: clad in heavy protective gear, hauling advanced equipment across a barren landscape of destruction, and treading precariously rather than hastily. Despite the fact that Jinyoung, Woojin, and Daehwi still have walking capability, three more groups of suited responders are also armed with a stretcher and stun guns. They execute the usual precautions: paralyze each bender from a shooting range before rolling their bodies on stretchers. 

Jinyoung chooses not to avert his eyes from the staff extricating the icicle from the wall, causing a thick stream of blood to run down Guanlin’s arm. Daehwi’s choking tears intensify with Guanlin’s sobs, no doubt terrified that today was his first time seriously injuring another bender. Jinyoung does not get to witness more before a needle embeds itself in the back of his neck, and he succumbs to the anesthetics and crumples on melting ice. 

 

When Jinyoung arouses, a comforting canvas of expansive white faces him. 

It is not so comforting once he absorbs his surroundings.

His wrists and ankles are cuffed together, the rough metal preventing him from nestling in the pristine bed of baby’s swaddling. His restraints leave him sprawled over the mattress: his arms high above his head and chained to the bedpost, his feet dangling off the end of the mattress to be perpendicularly linked to the floor. Amusingly, the hospital sheets intending to conceal patients’ bodies only extend to his ankles, leaving his most injured body parts protruding from the end of his bed. His bicep is also plugged into an IV drip, tubes that once signified quality treatment now another taunting reminder of his imprisonment. 

For any other human, it would be an extremely uncomfortable position to sleep in, if possible. 

But Jinyoung has adapted to it, and so have the other three inmates in the row of beds lining the same room. 

His eyelids droop lethargically, and he slips into foolish dreams of freedom.

_I’m trying to look for an exit_  
Take myself out from being trapped in the darkness  
I’m fighting harder, run away from this place  
I’m on the hellevator, I’m gonna go up  
Stray Kids ~ “Hellevator”

For a fleeting moment, his dreams are fulfilled a certain Zhou Jieqiong.

As his eyelids flicker into consciousness, he can feel his wrist and ankle cuffs being unlocked. He is eager to stretch his stiff limbs but patiently waits for Nurse Jieqiong to also unplug his IV drip. 

Once the last chain is removed, he sighs contentedly and shifts into a relaxing position on his bed. A simple position of his arms slack against his sides and feet considerably on the mattress that Mr. Cho denied them.

After all, if Jinyoung had awoken with this flexibility anywhere else, he hypothetically would have set the building ablaze and be slipping out the window by now.

But no, he was in the hospital, and Nurse Jieqiong is the one human who never discriminates any of her patients. Even if that requires her to disobey the strict protocol Mr. Cho narrated for the treatment of his slaves.

Jinyoung watches her slender, ungloved fingers shift from his bed to Daehwi’s restraints, and when she meets his gaze she sends him a genuine, radiant smile.

And even though the smile reaches her eyes, he still spots the pity reflected in her chocolate irises for a millisecond too long. 

He shuts his eyes and listens to the rhythmic clinks of unchaining. When he opens his eyes again, Nurse Jieqiong closes and locks the door behind her, and all the benders are free to roam around and treat themselves to the tray of steaming bowls of ramen she sneaked in.

Woojin leaps out of his bed to claim his meal, and if Jinyoung did not know any better he would label Woojin as an airbender based on that agile feat. Even though fluid pumped intravenously is more nourishing than Asian junk food, it was a delicacy for their bland tongues. However, Jinyoung ignores his empty stomach, as pangs of guilt upon observing all of Woojin’s bandages overrule his pangs of hunger. 

Apologies between the benders always went unspoken as they all pooled their guilt into a vast lake of collective suffering, letting the memories and regrets of harming each other sink to the bottom, hoping that the reflection shimmering on surface would be of the caring bond threading them all together. 

Woojin barely dips his chopsticks in broth when he suddenly glances behind his shoulder at their maknae. Guanlin’s right forearm, supposedly supporting his dominant hand, is now an immobile, bulky cast, and the youngest squirms under the mere attention his injury draws. 

Woojin carries his bowl over to Guanlin’s bedside, and he gently tips the bowl against Guanlin’s parted lips to allow the younger a sip of broth. Guanlin reluctantly obliges, but then remarks, “The soup is too salty.” In a teasingly adept manner, Guanlin uses his unharmed arm to gracefully desalinate the water from the soup in a twisting stream suspended in midair that he directs towards his mouth. 

Woojin pouts. “You pabo-ya, being unappreciative of your hyungs in the rare moments they can properly baby you.” Woojin counters Guanlin’s skillful demonstration by levitating the porcelain bowl out of Guanlin’s reach to fly it smoothly back to the tray.

Both Jinyoung and Daehwi chuckle. It is not as if they never trifled with their powers before. It is because they are required to consider their bending as a curse, an abnormality that the authorities snuffed out and quarantined under the feet of Cho Yoo Myung. Cho Yoo Myung, a capitalist mastermind that marketed their freakish abilities as glorified superpowers, incessantly reminded them of the alternatives to dutifully performing their best on stage: gruesome torture in front of the remnants of their families, service as subjects for experimental biochemistry in extreme conditions, or individual exploitation to other crackheads. 

Instead, they were opportunely granted the chance to promote as the only superheroes not requiring CGI. The four of them are the proponents of nationally broadcasted tournaments, drawing in vast profits for their thousands of tickets listed online or even relisted at skyrocketing prices that still sold, the inspiration behind multiple webtoons and online dramas, and the fantasy of children purchasing tracksuits in the color corresponding to the bender they wanted to cosplay for Halloween. 

What did the benders receive in return? 

Alienation, dehumanizing abuse, overwork, and a luxurious metal pillow in dungeons physically beneath the arena floor. And maybe a few puppy kicks from Mr. Cho when they looked particularly drained in their cages.

And yet Jinyoung was content with that.

He caused enough destruction during his time in the free world, and his mere two years of slavery served him karmic justice.

He had deserved to lose those that had ever treated him affectionately: his family, his caretaker, his first love. 

That is the inherent flaw with fire: it allures with captivating beauty as it consumes everything that has ever nourished it, and only once it concludes its rampage does its true despicability become apparent.

Even so, he could not learn to abstain from people whose lives he would only ruin. He selfishly craves intimacy at the expense of innocent others, as fire steals oxygen from needy lungs. 

Jinyoung somehow manages to shift his weight onto his injured soles and limps across to Daehwi’s bed, taking care to collapse on the side behind the younger in order to avoid Daehwi’s mummified fingers.

As Jinyoung slips beneath the sheets, Woojin exaggeratedly groans. “Ugh, not only do I want a stun gun to shoot myself in the head with, which would be a far more proximate attack than those animal control agents could provide, but I would also like to concoct an amnesiac potion just for the sake of being oblivious to these two mushing together. Sorry that I didn’t die a responsible hyung to you, Linnie.” Woojin produces earplugs out of nowhere and buries his head under his white sheets. Guanlin shoots them an apologetic look but does the same. 

Daehwi presses back into Jinyoung’s chest, and Jinyoung’s arms possessively encircle Daehwi’s trim waist. Even though Jinyoung is a self-heating stove, his chest flares upon contact and a reddening glow colors his cheeks. 

“You’re so warm, hyung,” Daehwi sleepily mumbles as he snuggles comfortably in Jinyoung’s arms. Jinyoung nuzzles his nose into Daehwi’s neck and breathes in clean air, a scent he encounters only occasionally outside. It reminds him of his selfish use of Daehwi to satisfy his unattainable desires. The younger craved companionship, and Jinyoung craved skinship, and somehow, north meets south, and south meets north, the most seemingly opposing forces make ends meet and find themselves in equilibrium. 

All the instances when Daehwi spoke too affectionately to Jinyoung, or when Jinyoung got too touchy with Daehwi, were merely blunders in their self-centered exchange. 

Or so Jinyoung believed. It was least he could do to remain loyal to Jihoon. 

 

_It was his mother’s fortieth birthday the year Jinyoung was eight years old. He remembers setting his beloved Poliwag alarm clock to force himself out of bed at the crack of dawn. It had been an unseasonably frigid morning, but Jinyoung was undaunted as he haphazardly tossed on layers upon layers of jackets, reasoning that ruining the closet his mother had painstakingly organized was a sacrifice made for the greater good of his mission._

_Jinyoung quietly slipped out the glass sliding door to the backyard, hopped across the lawn, and paused in front of the rose bushes. Strangely, only one bush was in full bloom, its brambles adorned with unblemished white roses tinged with pink on the border of each petal. As his eyes traced the petal pattern in an inward spiral, he could not resist the idea of filling his entire vase with roses alone, rather than diversifying his selection from the assortment of flowers in his backyard._

_Jinyoung reaches out to pluck a bud, but finds it surprisingly stubborn. His fingers slip lower down the stem and he feels the pinprick from the thorns. It frustrated him, really, why did collecting some pretty gifts have to be so hard?_

_His thumb throbbed and he was pretty sure he drew blood, but he tugged relentlessly, unsure why he persevered to the point that pain reddened and tears blurred his vision._

_He falls backward once the bramble finally snapped under his fingers. Upon examination, the stem gripped between his fingers was singed at where he severed it. When he twirled it in his fingers, flames spurted out from his fingertips, and suddenly the entire flower was ablaze._

_Jinyoung admired how it was even prettier, as its once immobile coloring scheme was alight with dancing, fiery patterns, and the receding black contours of the petals was far more captivating than the innocent pink hues. His mother once said she did not like white much, because it dirties the quickest and therefore requires the most hassle to clean. Surely, she would appreciate these roses with much more lively color schemes._

_Jinyoung intends to pick forty of these roses, so he discards his vase and finds a flower pot with a much wider brim. As he lights each flower, he also discovers that the flames are contained to whatever is between his fingers, and that is how he managed to grip a pot of flames while not singing his sleeves ends that contact the pot._

_He smiled, marveling at how tame his vibrant flames were. As he rushed back inside, eager to return to sleep so that he could be fully awake when she noticed his blazing spectacle decorating their dining table._

_And this time, he does get to witness her delighted expression upon observing his creation. His father is equally fascinated, chuckling that Jinyoung’s gift had finally surpassed his homemade cakes crafted with elegant swirls of whipped cream. His parents drop their chiding of eating healthy as Jinyoung digs into cake for breakfast, although his mother does warn him against feeling sick during their aquarium road trip is he eats too much._

_Nothing disastrous happens to his household this time around. He never meets Mrs. Jang, he is never detained, he is never harshly shoved into his cage by Mr. Cho’s staff._

_The eight-year-old Jinyoung frowns down at his plate. With his fork, he had already carved out and eaten all the cake, leaving only a distorted spread of fiery colored cream. He looks up at the pot of contained flames._

_This was not right. Sure, he could live a normal life now that his family is alive, but how can he never meet the boy brighter than the flames Jinyoung would hold to illuminate their stealthy path through the night, the boy who even the mere thought of fueled his livelihood more than the breaths he intaked?_

_Jinyoung shakily grips the edges of the plate, and before he can reconsider he thrusts the plate at the opposite wall. The plate shatters into many more fragments than the embers that the burning flowers explode into, and hundreds of smithereens retaliate by stabbing his arms as vengeance for decorating the room with blazing petals._

 

Jinyoung stirs into consciousness with his mother’s scream still echoing in his ears. 

When he regains sense of his arms, he does not feel any piercings, but instead compulsive shakes as the boy Jinyoung clutches sobs in his sleep. 

He instinctively cards his fingers through Daehwi’s hair. When Daehwi does not calm down despite his comforting efforts, he gently whispers in the younger’s ear, “Hey, there’s nothing to fear. You’re just having a bad dream.” 

Daehwi lifts a mummified hand to muffle his sobs. Jinyoung gently pulls the hand away and wipes Daehwi’s tears with his unbandaged fingers. “Daehwi, do you want to talk?” Jinyoung whispers with a slightly commanding edge.

Daehwi faces Jinyoung, all puffy eyes and tousled hair. His face is still pretty, the delicate kind of pretty that Jinyoung would worry about accidentally combusting. 

“Jinyoung, do you think I’m weak?”

Daehwi, who could easily extinguish flames, redirect precipitation, or blow away boulders wonders if refraining from doing so is a sign of weakness. Daehwi, who belongs with a glider to ascend to an altitude beyond where clouds reside, wonders why he cannot be content with staying rooted to the earth. Daehwi, who possesses the element that is the least possible to contain, asks him if it is foolish to wish to be free

“You’re the strongest one here,” Jinyoung declares resolutely, his hands gripping Daehwi’s shoulders so that they maintain direct eye contact. Daehwi’s pupils waver in his irises, unable to grasp the sincerity in his words.  
“If this about what you did to Guanlin today,” Jinyoung pauses to further emphasize his next words, “it was by far the most tamely manner we’ve ever ended a game in.” 

Daehwi’s eyelids stop flickering and he now meets Jinyoung’s gaze in surprise. 

Jinyoung sighs. “Honestly, every other game has flowed the same way. In the beginning, we just exhibit our bending to catch the best camera angles. We use extravagant displays of danger to disguise our efforts of actually harming each other. But then, with the three of us, something snaps in the midst of all our play-fighting, hollers for violence from the audience, the leering scrutiny of Mr. Cho expecting our most berserk outlashes. And we actually succumb to the frenzied situation. We end up believing that we’re some roundhousing animals who would gladly shred each other in front of the public.” Jinyoung bites his lip, remembering how he had once strangled Guanlin, the frustration of having his flames drowned feeding a mindless urge to leave hand-imprinted burn marks on the waterbender’s neck. 

“It’s pathetic, not strong. We’re humans, not vicious animals. You are the only one who remembers that amongst the rest of us obeying the bloodthirsty spectators.” 

Jinyoung loosens his grip on Daehwi’s shoulders, sensing the discomfort preceding the younger’s next words. It all comes out in a rant, a rapid stream of words that Daehwi would unquestionably repress with his quietude in any other circumstance. “Mr. Cho was flying us to some foreign country while we were still anesthetized but you, Guanlin, and Woojin somehow awakened and Woojin tackled the pilot while Guanlin sliced an exit open with his waterjet and you found parachutes to strap onto us but I only gained consciousness once you pushed me off the plane and the plummet was terrifying, my parachute wasn’t opening and I cried about how powerless I felt in my own element-” 

Jinyoung lets Daehwi press his face into his chest and resumes stroking the smaller boy’s hair. The words Jinyoung murmurs fall on silent ears, and by the time Jinyoung thinks Daehwi fell asleep again he is lost in his own trance.

_Our greatest fear is what we are, that one day even our own elements will backlash under our very command, for we are nothing that nature cannot snatch from under our noses._

Another thought bubbles to the top of his concocted mind, and vigorous stirring would not disperse it into solution. Maybe people like Daehwi, the most optimistic viewpoints and genuine smiles, are able to show their more radiant sides in reality because they are plagued by fears in their fantasies. And people like Jinyoung, unsatisfied with his real life and rarely letting jubilant emotions slip past the guise of his face, are only able to experience joy in their fantasies.

Or even when Jinyoung was given the chance to right his life, to live in a fleeting world where he did not combust his parents in their sleep, he always detours to the more destructive route.

He wonders if that is why Jihoon reported him. 

But he disregards that notion, because no amount of loathing Jinyoung assumes that Jihoon holds for him could ever banish his eternally unrequited feelings.

_Oh baby it’s you_  
It’s only the beginning, the limitless me  
From the start of the East to the end of the West  
The light gets stronger  
As it spreads through the darkness  
NCT 127 ~ “Limitless”

**Author's Note:**

> It is an unfortunate coincidence that Mr. Cho shares the same name as YMC… 
> 
> On ~~chamsae~~ twt im [@yminkhwhfangirl](https://twitter.com/yminkhwhfangirl)  
>  Message me if ur interested in BETA-ing MY WORKS 
> 
> Jinyoung is fire cuz what's a story without a hot main character :3  
> Woojin is earth cuz his dancing shakes me to my core :O  
> Guanlin is water cuz ~~i’m thirsty for him~~ Lin means rain and he has the long limbs for the graceful bending movements :P also he looked so cute as Olaf  
>  Daehwi is air cuz that’s how much he weighs :’)
> 
> Title from “The Juggler” by Richard Wilbur


End file.
